


I Care

by TheDarkChocolateLord



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mentioned Injury, mentioned death, we stan a disaster councillor bff duo, yes I know that my recent works are these two processing trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkChocolateLord/pseuds/TheDarkChocolateLord
Summary: Spoilers for Legacy (but not Unlocked).Bronte helps Oralie sort out her feelings about being Sophie's biological mother after Loamnore.
Relationships: Councillor Bronte & Councillor Oralie (Keeper of the Lost Cities)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	I Care

"Is your head feeling okay?" Across the table, Bronte's concern wafted towards Oralie. It felt soft yet a little prickly—like dried paint on fabric—intermingled with sharp tingles of worry.

"It hurts less than it did last night." Oralie took the last sips of the elixir; she felt her body relax as her headache receded. "You're….more nervous than you would normally be. I only got knocked out."

"Being knocked out isn't as simple as fiction makes it seem."

"You've been knocked out at least a dozen times from what I know of your adventures during the Ogre Wars. Even with your disregard for your own safety, there's got to be more to it than that." She stretched her hand closer, feeling for the rest of his emotions. Protectiveness, hard and dense and heavy, sank into her fingertips, followed by the jittery, vibrating sensation that she immediately recognized as fear. 

"You're scared."

"Of course I'm scared—I almost lost you!" Bronte exploded. "How easy would it have been for Gisela to decide to kill a Councillor to set an example? To kill  _ you _ —you're Sophie's closest ally on the Council and associated with the Black Swan. It would have been so easy for you to die, and you didn't even need to go down there. I'm not trying to doubt your abilities, but—"

"I had to—for Sophie. I'm expendable compared to her and I just want her to get through this—" 

"Don't ever say that again," Bronte interrupted. 

"Say what?" 

"That you're expendable! You're  _ not _ , even if it seems like Sophie doesn't care about you."

"She doesn't." Oralie's mind flashed to the meeting before they went to Loamnore, where Sophie's hatred and disgust towards her was so clear that she had switched off her ability—the closest she could get to going numb—to keep her own thoughts under control. "I need to set things right between us—" 

"Do you know what kind of shape I'd be in if I lost my best friend? I can't lose you, especially after Fintan and Kenric—I can't lose you!"

Silence. 

"Did you think I didn't care? Just because I show it less doesn't mean that I don't mean it," Bronte assured her. 

"I know," Oralie breathed. "I care about you, too."

"I'm sorry. I'm just not used to caring, and especially not used to showing it—some days it feels like everyone I care about just ends up getting hurt because of it."

"Some days…." She thought about Kenric. About Sophie. "It feels like that for me, too."

"Everyone has a reason to dislike me. I'm the grumpy Inflictor whose laughter sounds like a crazed baby alicorn with an evil plot. You're the nice Councillor, the mercy vote—everyone loves you."

"Nobody who  _ knows  _ me does." It felt strange saying that aloud, but Oralie realized that it was true. "I'm 'the nice one' to people who don't know the full extent of what I've done. The choices I've made, some of them terrible in retrospect, the laws I've broken. Everyone who actually knows me….the rest of the Council's been at least a little wary of me ever since I gave Kenric's cache away and proved myself to be associated with the Black Swan. They're barely starting to trust me again. The Black Swan is cautious around me and won't give me the full story because I'm a Councillor—and I don't blame them for that. And if anyone finds out about my involvement in Project Moonlark they're just going to hate me even more. Sophie did—and she's probably going to hate me for the rest of her life. I hoped that she wouldn't. I hoped that we'd be able to reconcile once the news slipped out, but I handled it badly and she yelled at me and I was wrong, I was really wrong, and now I'm stuck in this mess and there's a war going on and I shouldn't even be thinking about this and all I'm worrying about is whether Sophie likes me or not when it's clear that the answer is not." Her voice was trembling, and she was pretty sure that if she kept rambling she was going to make herself cry.

"I don't hate you," Bronte assured her.

Oralie bit her lip, wanting to believe him yet not sure that she could. "If you knew the full extent of what I was doing, you probably would." 

_ Classified Council assignments, every choice feeling like the wrong one. _

_ Double agent work for the Black Swan. _

_ Mr. Forkle's death as the castle collapsed. _

"I still wouldn't hate you. You knew that I inflicted on Sophie, which is probably worse than anything you've ever done—and although you didn't talk to me for a week and convinced Kenric to attend Sophie's inflicting sessions to protect her, you didn't give up on me. And I'm not going to give up on you no matter what."

His words felt like a gasp of fresh air, settling deep into Oralie's lungs, slowing her breathing and clearing her vision.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

"About Sophie, though…"

"Give her space for now," Bronte told her. "Sophie's spent most of her time in the lost Cities having to reconcile with people who've betrayed her or used her or created her. She had to reconcile with  _ me _ after I inflicted on her. And if this is the one that made her snap—just let her get mad at you with this one even if you want to make up with her, because she's going to need time."

It seemed so obvious now—but of course it hadn't been obvious; she hadn't seen it. 

"Okay." 

Maybe, once she'd given Sophie some space….once she'd figured out why 'stellarlune' sounded so familiar yet didn't trigger any memories...

Bronte frowned. "You're plotting something, aren't you?" Suspicion, slick and creeping and cold, made Oralie draw her hand away from him. That emotion always made her uncomfortable—especially when directed at her.

"What?"

"Oralie, after something terrible happens you usually get more reckless than usual because you feel like you need to make up for it. And I'm not saying that that's a bad thing, but with whatever you're planning….don't do it if it could put you in serious danger. Be careful. Maybe this is selfish of me, but I can't lose you, too."

He was right.

Everyone had  _ thought  _ that after Kenric's death, she'd be inconsolable. Instead, she'd given Sophie Kenric's cache and leaked classified information to Sophie.

Everyone had  _ thought  _ that after Lumenaria, she'd be terrified. Instead, she'd started working more seriously with the Black Swan, trying to help them with interviewing guards about the mysterious prisoner and possible dwarven traitors.

And now Oralie couldn't deny that 'stellarlune' and her cache had to have something to do with each other. If she could just remember the access sequence….

Yes, this was probably the exact kind of thing that Bronte had told her not to do. But if she could open her cache and get them a new lead in this fight….

"You look like you're up to something," Bronte noted. "I'm not going to force you to tell me what it is. Just be careful, okay?"

If it made Sophie like her a little more, or even trust her a little more, or even  _ talk  _ to her, if there was  _ any  _ information the two of them could use to help Keefe, opening her cache would be worth it.

Oralie didn't have the heart to tell Bronte that she was planning to take the risk anyway. 

"I'll be careful," she promised, and she hoped that she could stick to her words.

"Thank you."

"We should get to the Council meeting—it's almost nine."

Bronte nodded. "One batch of mallowmelt that the Tribunal for King Enki happens today?"

"No bet, we both know that it's going to happen." Oralie's gaze flickered to his feet. "You're not going there dressed like that, I hope."

"What's wrong with my outfit?" Bronte wondered, brushing off his black-and-silver jerkin.

"You're wearing crocs."

"So? I'll change before the Tribunal. You've gone to meetings in a hoodie before."

"Hoodies are actually somewhat stylish," Oralie pointed out. "Well, not really….but they're more stylish than  _ crocs _ ."

Bronte rolled his eyes. "These are comfy. Besides, why do you need heels?" He glared at her heeled boots. "You're tall enough as is."

"Tall enough to  _ you _ , who's four foot eleven and a half and tells everyone that he's five feet tall."

"I  _ am  _ five feet tall." Bronte stood up, rising onto his tiptoes. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Oralie reached for his emotions again—more like embroidered fabric than painted, concern without the prickles of worry. 

It helped.

With her cache and the dwarves and all the chaos that she knew laid ahead, it was nice to know that she had at least one person on her side.

  
  



End file.
